


Daydream Believer

by Beltenebra



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Host Clubs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beltenebra/pseuds/Beltenebra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kisumai staff what is probably not the worst host club in Tokyo. ...probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daydream Believer

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Kis-my-fic2 2012. It contains large amounts of snark and is not the most accurate portrayal of host clubs ever.

Miyata leaned on his broom for a moment, surveying his handiwork. Despite the small pile of dust and debris he had corralled, the floor didn't look especially clean. It would probably take several more hours than he had and the use of a power washer to return it to a respectable state. Thankfully, he didn't have to. Establishments like theirs relied heavily on atmosphere, mostly dim lighting, to make the slightly shabby furnishings appear chic and luxurious. 

He kind of liked the look of the place in the daytime: the way the sun streamed in through the normally heavily curtained windows, the house lights highlighted every scratch in the wood and every snag in the fabric. It wasn't pretty but it was genuine. 

They were just finishing the opening chores - wiping down the tables, checking the glasses for spots, sweeping the floor - when Fujigaya appeared in the doorway hands on his hips and a petulant pout on his face. He pointedly surveyed Yokoo readying the bar and Miyata himself with the broom and sighed gustily. Miyata wasn't sure if he would ever be capable of conveying complete disappointment with the universe and all it contained with one sound. Or many sounds. Miyata had never been that displeased with life. 

"This is the worst host club ever." 

It was going to be one those days. Miyata grinned. He was probably crazy but he enjoyed them - he liked the challenge. 

He sidled up to his co-worker and poked Fujigaya in the cheek the way he knew he hated. "Yeah, but it's ours! And it can't possibly be the worst _ever_. 

Fujigaya retaliated with a swift jab to the ribs and Miyata gleefully joined in a halfhearted shoving match that he hoped would shake Fujigaya out of his mood while Yokoo tsked from the other side of the room. 

"Taipi, have you been reading host club manga again?" The disapproval in his tone and the unspoken second half of the sentence, 'despite the fact that we have told you not to', were clear. 

The other man nearly looked chagrined for a second before he shot Miyata an icy glare moments before Miyata's hand made contact with his carefully styled hair, an icy glare. The hair was sacred. Fujigaya flopped onto one of the couches with another sigh but this one was more dramatically showy indicating that he was no longer really upset. 

"Well, I'm fabulous, so maybe not ever. But the rest of you, I don't even know." 

Miyata had to admit that their little group wasn't really a host club dream team. Fujigaya was pretty and showy and great with all of the customers, a natural number one. But he was also a drama queen and not much of a team leader. The second ranked host Kitayama was undeniably gorgeous and worked with a casual but deceptively quiet confidence... about sixty percent of the time. He snuck off as often as he possibly could to nap on the cozy cracked leather embrace of the old couch in the break room. Or   
the pile of clean towels folded away in plastic bags, ready for another business day. Or the reception desk. Just about any horizontal surface, really. 

Nikaido was ambitious and worked his ass off and Miyata was sure he would achieve his goal of effortless charm any day now. Currently he usually managed to vacillate between the cool, aloof prince and total goofball dependent entirely on how much sleep he had gotten, his blood sugar, and his proximity to Senga. Senga was sweet, earnest, and a great dancer. He probably would have been more popular if he wasn't also a total weirdo. He was famous for his ability to say absolutely the wrong thing, bringing conversations to a screeching halt. 

Yokoo was quiet and competent – the big brotherly type that some women really liked. Miyata supposed what kept him from being more popular was that Yokoo was odd even for them. Tamamori was also more than a little strange. Spaced out, obsessed with flying squirrels, talked to inanimate objects kind of strange. But he had _such_ a pretty face. 

Tamamori must have been Miyata's kind of crazy because from the very beginning he had been totally charmed. From day one they were friends as well as co-workers, spending an inordinate amount of their free time hanging out. It was the worst kept secret in their little group that Miyata adored Tamamori. He was both grateful that it hadn't affected their close and easy friendship and resigned to the fact that nothing would ever come of it. 

Miyata wasn't sure exactly what made him the moderate success he was in his position. He thought he wasn't too hard on the eyes, if a little goofy looking. He wasn't a natural beauty like some of his group but he had an open, approachable nature and a good sense of humor if you liked your jokes a little nerdy. Which thankfully, some girls did. There was also a surprising number of customers interested in chatting about manga and video games. He always enjoyed himself the most when his work and his hobbies intersected. 

It wasn't one of their days to open so Nikaido, Senga, and Tamamori rolled in about thirty minutes before they could expect the earliest customers. Nikaido and Senga were chattering away animatedly, headed for the employee locker room to change. Tamamori trailed behind them with a bemused smile, giving Miyata a 'come along' head tilt as he passed. They all trooped dutifully back to get out of street clothes and into their customary flashy suits. 

Miyata was doing his final check in the mirror: hair artfully tousled, the right amount of eyeliner, tie properly knotted, not-so-subtly checking out Tamamori in the mirror. Tamamori caught him staring, like he did almost every time, and gave him the usual 'you're so weird, Miyacchi' eye roll. Miyata just grinned, totally unabashed. 

Kitayama slouched in with only a few minutes to go until show time and Nikaido tensed, scowling as the shorter man moved quickly, shedding his beat-up jeans and hoodie. "How can you barely do any work, constantly be late, just throw your shit on at the last minute and _still_ be the second most popular?!" 

He didn't rise to Nikaido's temper, just blinked solemnly in the mirror and wiggled his hips a few times. "Have you looked at my pert and adorable ass lately?" He waited until Senga and Tama were snickering to crack a smile. 

Nikaido just narrowed his eyes with a small growl, not bothering to contest any of Kitayama's ass-related claims. Though Senga was still giggling, he did his best to soothe Nika - running a hand over the tense line of Nikaido's shoulders. "It's ok, baby. Someday you'll be number 2." 

"Shut up!" Nikaido bristled but he let the other man continue to pet him, not swatting Senga's hand off of his shoulder like he would anyone else's. 

"You shouldn't be so put out, Nika," Yokoo added conversationally. "Some of us are number seven. Out of seven."

"People would like you better if they couldn't count your bones through your suit." Nika scoffed, most of the real ire gone from his tone. 

"That's not true!"

"It totally is," Nika dismissed him. "Whatever. Eat a pound of bacon."

"Nika, you can't end every argument we have by saying 'Eat a pound of bacon'," Yokoo explained in an even voice, like he was talking to a particularly willful toddler. 

"Can't I? Eat a pound of bacon. I win." 

Whatever Yokoo might have replied with was cut off by Fujigaya snapping, "Yes, fine. You win. Brat. Now can we please get to work. You know, work? Our adoring public? That thing that gets us paid?" 

"Hey, Mitsu."

"Oh god, _now_ what?!" 

The new interruption nodded in the general direction of everyone, "Hey, guys. Chill, Taipi, this will be quick." 

Totsuka Shota was a clerk at the combini downstairs that all of them frequented regularly because it was well, convenient. If they couldn't find Kitayama anywhere in the club, odds were he was downstairs lounging against the counter and looking completely out of place in his suit. Tottsu was laid back and friendly and it was easy to see why Kitayama spent so much of his time talking to him. 

He held up a plastic bag. "You forgot your stuff." 

Kitayama took the bag with a small smile that Miyata recognized as one of his genuine, not-for-the-customers smiles. 

And then Fujigaya exploded. He strode across the locker room clearing his path with an icy glare. "You-" he held up a warning finger in Tottsu's face "stop wasting our time to flirt and unless you're going to dress up and give Kitayama a run for number two-"

"Hey!" 

He ignored Nikaido's indignant squawk. "-get back to your real job. And _you_." He turned to Nikaido who shut his mouth on whatever he was going to say as soon as he got a look at Fujigaya's serious expression. "Stop giving everyone a hard time because you are frustrated with yourself. You work hard, Nika. It's ok to let the customers know how much you care about doing a good job. You don't need to be so cool all the time." 

He sighed, the ire gone out of his voice. "The rest of you, get your asses in gear." He managed a small, crooked smile that Miyata loved. "We have to make sure we're not the worst host club ever." 

He was met with a few seconds of stunned silence after which people actually did what he said. Fujigaya fluffed his hair one last time before sweeping out into the glitter-spangled dimness of the club and just like that, they were open for business. 

The night went smoothly despite some minor incidents that were pretty par for the course. Miyata chuckled to himself remembering one moment when there was a lull in the conversation and Senga tried to change the subject. He and Taipi had been sitting with a larger group of girls and when he leaned in with a conspiratorial smile he had everyone's attention. 

"You know some of our regulars write stories about us."

Even Taipi, the consummate professional, was shocked into a natural reaction. In this case, wide-eyed disbelief. 

"No."

"Yes." Senga didn't sound shocked at all, in fact he sounded delighted.

"No... really?"

"Oh, yes."

Taipi couldn't quite contain his mild shudder of horror. Senga just grinned and caroled brightly, "I read one where you were a whore! And Kitayama was-"

"Shut _up_!" Luckily no one had to find out what Kitayama was. Nika, who was passing by, cut off Senga's declaration with an affectionate whap to the back of Senga's head. Senga just giggled at Nika's face as he registered all of the girls' eyes on him, surprised by his unusual outburst. Instead of closing down and disappearing he grinned shyly at them and ducked his head slightly. "Sorry about him." Miyata was pleased to note that the ladies were all smiles.

Miyata and Tamamori were taking advantage of a little down time between appointments to restock things at the bar when Fujigaya strolled up for a drink. He leaned back against the bar like a prince surveying his kingdom. 

"Happy, Taipi?" Tamamori confirmed what was already clear, Fujigaya's satisfied smile making it clear that they were having a good night. His earlier trauma apparently forgotten. "Senga gets to live? Or are you saving your wrath for later when he's not expecting it?" 

"Nah, the end result was ok." He tilted his chin to indicate the corner table where Nika was pouring drinks, relaxed and smiling openly. "See how benevolent I can be when everyone does exactly what I want?"

Miyata chuckled and nudged his friend with his shoulder. "That was some good advice, Taipi. The Nika thing."

"No need to sound so surprised. I can be helpful sometimes." Fujigaya spun to prop his elbows on the bar and give Tamamori a pointed look that he absolutely meant for Miyata to notice. "Speaking of good advice, Tama, remember that thing we talked about. I meant it."

Miyata quirked a brow in a silent question but Tamamori just slid his eyes away from Miyata's with a small shake of his head. 'Later' Miyata got the unspoken message. 

He let it go while they were cleaning up after the last customers, the harsh reality of the house lights revealing sticky puddles and worn edges but failing to make the lines of Tamamori's face any less beautiful. He let it go as he halfheartedly joined in the locker room banter while everyone got ready to leave. He let it go as they bade the rest of the guys goodnight and he and Tamamori walked through the pre-dawn darkness in companionable silence. They had reached the place where he turned off to catch his train. He was going to continue to let it go as he turned to bid Tamamori goodnight. Instead he got an usually close-up faceful of Tamamori with an odd determined sort of look on his face. 

"He told me that I need to stop lying to you." 

Miyata forced his brain to focus on Tamamori's words and not the intense look in his dark eyes. "Taipi did? I don't know, Tama, you're a pretty lousy liar." 

"Not true. I lie all the time when I don't tell you how I feel about you." 

He was already a little lightheaded at the implication but he forced his voice into a semblance its usual cheer when he replied, "That would be more like an omission, don't you think?" 

"Miyacchi." Tamamori sounded a little exasperated but Miyata was totally off-balance, not sure what he should be thinking or saying. 

"It's just that you _never_ say anything back."

"I know." 

"Or touch me."

"I'm touching you now."

He sure was. Tamamori had taken a few careful steps forward, Miyata stepping back to avoid being run into and now he was backed up against a wall with one of Tamamori's hands resting on his shoulder, one electric point of contact. The other one was lightly, almost questioningly brushing his hip. He concentrated every fiber of his being on not leaning in to kiss Tamamori just in case he was reading all of this wrong. 

Despite his efforts to remain collected Tamamori might have noticed Miyata's state of mild panic because he glared like he was personally offended that Miyata wasn't responding the way he expected. Miyata finally allowed himself a moment of breathless hope before Tama closed the distance between them and pressed their mouths together. 

He hoped Tamamori was sufficiently distracted to notice the small, joyful noise he made. He had tried to imagine so many times how this might go down and he had been off-base every time. He fell deeper into the kiss, letting a hand drift up into Tamamori's soft, dark hair. It was simultaneously the most thrilling and comfortable experience: the way Tamamori was pressing him into the wall and devouring him like _Tamamori_ was the one who had been waiting for years. 

They lost themselves a little as one kiss led into another. Miyata's hand slid down to trace the strong line of Tamamori's throat, to trace softly around the curve of his ear broken with the sparkling silver of his piercings, delighting in the other man's sharp inhalation when he tilted his chin up to press a light kiss against the line of metal hoops. 

When they finally paused to breathe properly Miyata found himself grinning like a maniac, thrilled when he got a bright answering smile from Tamamori. 

"This doesn't mean that it's ok for you to say completely ridiculous things in public, you know." 

Miyata's laugh echoed a little in the street-light lit quiet. "What, like how beautiful you are and how much I like you?" 

That earned him a punch in the shoulder but it was halfhearted at best. Tamamori turned toward the street that would take him home but this time he snagged Miyata's hand and tugged him along, Miyata fell into step easily. 

"You really are my favorite person. I can't help it, you know." 

"I never should have said anything. Now you are never going to stop, " Tamamori groaned.

"Nope," Miyata replied. "Though I could reasonably point out you never did actually say anything." 

Tamamori just threaded their fingers together. "Whatever. At least now I have better ways of shutting you up." 

Miyata doubted that Tamamori continuing to kiss him would be a permanent solution but he was more than happy to keep that thought to himself.


End file.
